


There's No Need To Be Brave

by Callmetiny



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Gen, Hurt Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), So don't worry, Technoblade Hears Voices (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Trauma, and they're going to get them!!, but there is still, found family let's go, mostly - Freeform, they all need hugs let's be honest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28782861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callmetiny/pseuds/Callmetiny
Summary: Techno has heard voices in his head as long as he could remember—they were a part of him, as much as any other thought in his head was. It'd taken plenty of time, but he'd learned to control them, keep them at bay.There were still days when they got to be too much, of course._______________In which things get to be a bit too much sometimes, and Phil's there to help.Later on, Techno gets the chance to do the same.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 386





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy!! I didn't really plan for this story to be as long as it is, I'm not gonna lie. Someone on tumblr wished for more Technoblade dealing with the voices fics, and I figured... hey, why not? Now I know why not because I have, as always, no self-restraint. This thing is almost fully written (about 2 scenes left to write), and it's far, FAR too long :(
> 
> Lines that are fully italicized are the voices (aka the wonderful people of chat, just refined a bit to actually make sense).
> 
> Side note: this work of fiction is based on CC's personas on the Dream SMP. If any creator expresses discomfort with this fic or anything like it, I will not hesitate to take it down. Techno's voices do not reflect any real-life mental disorders.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!!!

Techno planned to spend the night reading. 

He’d found some new tomes hidden out in an igloo not too far out, the pages somehow protected from years upon years of frost and melt by an old, warped wooden chest and a layer of old, tattered bedding. Likely, Techno assumed, all left there when the igloo’s occupants had moved on with the warmer season, the heavy wool too heavy to carry for nomads living on the ice. 

So, the books that had also been left behind were exceptionally well-preserved. Techno just had to spend a couple days translating them to figure out what the enchantments were—it was outrageously simple, compared to the usual lengths he went to to pull spells from old, tattered texts.

And, honestly, he made good progress through the afternoon. His head hurt a little bit from staring at the complicated runes and trying to work them out in his head, but it was better, in his experience, to keep working than to stop and trust himself to start again in the near future. Especially when there were other people in the house to distract him—the other person being Phil, who was spending the night on his way elsewhere. 

So Techno had eaten dinner with Phil across from him, the old leather-bound volume to his left, and his own book and quill on his right. Phil hadn’t seemed to mind. Techno hadn’t thought he would. 

Their friendship worked like that. 

After dinner, Techno took the book back upstairs and lingered about in the library, letting the seeping magic from the enchantment table help the translation along a bit.

He was usually good at pushing the voices away. No, that was an understatement—unless he was full on incapacitated, Techno hardly paid them any mind. They rose and fell like the layers of snow outside his house, occasionally building up only to eventually melt away. Sure, sometimes he had to work through them, but he could control them more often than not.

But tonight, for who knows what reason, he could not. Maybe it was the magic from the enchantment table messing with his head again, maybe it was how tired he was, or maybe it was the amount of potions he’d downed that day in place of real food—he didn’t know. Most likely, it was just an unfortunate combination of all of it.

It hurt quite a bit nonetheless.

The voices rose up slowly. Slowly, yet surely. Techno would hear one, louder than the rest, here or there, over the course of an hour. Next hour, timed as the candle in the study dwindled into a puddle of its own melted wax, there were more of them. A slight chorus, piping up every now and then.

Once they rose up, though, they were incessant.

_Blood._

_Blood, blood, blood._

_Kill them all._

They screamed, shrill and high-pitched in his ears. Unceasingly—for the voices didn’t need lungs to sustain them. They could scream as long as they wanted, as loudly as they wanted, and never tire, even as Techno was worn down bit-by-bit.

_Blood for the blood god._

_Kill, kill, kill._

_You haven’t killed them all._

_We expected better._

Techno had long since stopped writing. His hand was clenched on the quill, but the ink on the tip was dry. Somewhere along the line, he’d clenched so hard that the quill had snapped in half in his hand.

Splinters stuck into his hand, but he didn’t hear them. The voices, at the sight of Techno’s own blood running freely down his palm, got louder and louder and _louder._

_Blood, blood, blood._

_Kill them._

_Kill them all._

He dropped the quill as the chorus continued to grow, grunting out as they pounded against the bone of his skull—they scratched and bit and clawed at him, screaming for him to let them out, to let them take over, to just give in already and do what they knew he needed to do.

“Shit,” he said. His hands went to grip at his head, to press at his temples, to do _anything_ in the hope that it would help. It didn’t help, though, and he _knew_ it wouldn’t, but his body screamed at him to try, to just try _anything_. 

Anything to make it stop. 

Really, the move just made his crown—damnit, he thought he’d taken it off—fall from where it’d been perched on his head, toppling to the floor and rolling across the room, heavy stones thudding against the hardwood floor. He tangled his hands in his hair nonetheless, still hoping in vain that it would help, and grunted out loud again as his eardrums throbbed in his head.

He should- he needed to pick his crown up. It was important, and he- he wanted it- he wanted-

Techno tried to get up from his desk. 

_Kill, kill, kill._

_Why aren’t they all dead?_

_Blood, blood, blood for the blood god._

Almost predictably, he fell. The candle on his desk went out as he tumbled forwards, dropping the room into darkness. His legs tangled around the legs of his desk chair, and the spindly wood was just thin enough to break under him, cracking in half with a sickening _snap_ —but he paid it no mind. He couldn’t. 

_Snap, snap, snap their bones._

_Snap them in half._

_Kill them, kill them all._

_Blood, blood, blood._

He groaned as his head smacked into the floor. It was just a bump, and just like his bleeding hand, it wasn’t bad on Techno’s scale. But it sent the voices into another free frenzy, roaring loud in his head, louder, impossibly louder until there was no space left in his head. 

He muttered something, words he couldn’t even make out, into the floorboards.

They would go away. He just had to- he had to wait them out, that was all. It wasn’t the optimal place to do it—he preferred complete darkness and quiet when they got like this, to be isolated from those he could hurt and kept away from any other stimulus that could crank the voices higher, to give himself a place to focus on forcing them away—but he didn’t think he could manage moving much now. His arms were tense, his teeth clenched tight with the effort of keeping them at bay. And he’d already curled up there on the floor. His long hair had tangled up, had stuck to his face and clung to the sweat on the back of his neck, as his bones dug into the wood below him, one-by-one being ground away with every shift he made.

He hated it. 

The voices were helpful sometimes—they told him of the enemies’ strategies, took control when he otherwise wouldn’t survive, helped give him the reputation that now kept strangers from seeking him out—but in that moment, he didn’t care. In that moment, he was willing to claw them out of his skull if it meant quiet.

He didn’t know how long he lay there. 

It wasn’t long, he guessed, but he had no idea.

After some indeterminate amount of time, a spot of memories that escaped Techno no matter how hard he tried, Phil’s voice called up to him. 

“Techno?” Through the haze, Phil’s words were somehow clear. “Are you alright up there?”

Techno couldn’t form a response. He just curled up tighter, grunting out something that definitely wasn’t a word. He was shaking, now. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to bang his head on a rock, if only to knock himself out for the night. He just wanted them to _shut up_ before he brained himself on his own hardwood floor.

“Techno?” Phil’s boots made the ladder creak, one by one, rung by rung, until Phil’s head popped up into the attic, eyes bleary with the sleep he’d left behind. “Did you fall asleep up here again? Jesus, you need better habits.” He chuckled to himself as he scanned the space, confusion coloring his gaze as he saw the desk was empty. 

The room was dark, but Techno could still feel the shift as soon as Phil spotted him on the floor. 

“Oh my god, holy shit,” Phil said, rushing forward.

The floorboards creaked, and the fabric of Phil’s clothes shifted, and then Phil’s hand landed on Techno’s spine. He just lay there and tried not to flinch, even though he wanted so bad to fling Phil across the room just to get him _off_. 

Phil’s voice was low, quiet in the dark, but it boomed in Techno’s head regardless. “Are they loud again?” he asked.

Techno managed a groan in response. The voices grew excited at Phil’s acknowledgement of them, and Techno grit his teeth harder to keep them at bay. They didn’t have the gall to attack Phil—last time it’d happened and Techno had stuck himself in a closet for a week, unmoving—but still, Techno didn’t trust them in the slightest. He kept his jaw tightened, swallowing hard against the sudden, stronger urge to throw up.

“Right,” Phil said, pulling his hand away. Techno could feel his eyes on him, searching, searching, searching until… “Right. Just your hand this time. Okay, you know the drill.”

Techno hated the drill. He knew it, sure, but that didn’t make it any more pleasant.

Moving slowly, Phil took Techno in his arms. It was awkward—Techno’s robes were all over the place, his hair was a mess, and his legs dangled as he was scooped up, bridal style—but they’d made do before, and they would make do now. 

Rather than struggle down the ladder, Phil opened the window and, opening those massive wings of his, floated them down through the air to the ground. Flurries blew hard around them, but Techno didn’t mind—they felt nice against his flushed, sweat-covered forehead. Before he could fully enjoy it, though, Phil was up the front steps and through the front door.

“You’ve gotten a bit heavier,” Phil said with a lighthearted chuckle. “I know I make it look easy, but… a little less training wouldn’t kill you, you know.” He shut the front door with his boot before the mobs could find their way in in the dark—there were way too many zombies and strays lurking about this time of night for Phil to bother dealing with them—before heading off down the hall to Techno’s bedroom.

Techno was plopped onto his familiar mattress before long. Phil put him down gently, as always. Then, there were blankets being piled up around Techno, up until just his eyes poked out of the top and his hair splayed out across the pillow. The warmth was soothing, Techno had admitted a while back; it pushed the voices away, ever-so-slightly. When Techno got like this, Phil’s dad instincts took over, and he had never been more grateful.

Techno used to despise this ritual of theirs. He would try to insist he was fine, that he didn’t need to go to bed, that he’d be better off if he ran off into caves and let the voices have him kill whatever mobs they could get his hands on. He would push Phil away (never attack, not after that one incident) and come back covered in blood a few days later, only to collapse in exhaustion on the floor, his sword still strapped to his back and his armor still bound to his clothes. This newer way was better for both of them, though, they’d quickly realized—Phil didn’t worry as much, and Techno didn’t lose himself quite as much.

Now, Techno welcomed Phil’s help with open arms.

Phil worked quietly. It would be best if Techno woke up comfortable, he always insisted. So, after a brief foray into the bathroom, Phil came up to the bed with a first aid kit in hand, and he quickly wrapped up Techno’s hand with gentle words on his tongue to help try to keep him present. The room was still dark, but Phil didn’t turn on a light. Instead, he then went for a ribbon, and his callused hands gently brushed at Techno’s jaw as he pulled the hair away. He didn’t brush it, just pulled it into a loose bun to get it out of Techno’s face and secured it just as he knew Techno liked it. Then came the clothes—gone were Techno’s robe and boots and socks and chains and belt and even the red cummerbund around his waist. Phil didn’t push him to really change, just put the items in the right places until Techno was as comfortable as he could be.

“This is what you get for staying up so late,” Phil said, as he folded Techno’s robe and lay it across the chest at the end of his bed. He came back up for a moment, leaning in to press a kiss to the edge of Techno’s forehead, then moved to the door. “Goodnight.”

If he’d been able, Techno would’ve said it back. It was only common courtesy, after Phil had tucked him in like a child who’d fallen asleep on the back of a horse and needed to be put to bed once they’d gotten home. Knowing how Wilbur had been, Phil probably had experience with that exact scenario. Still, Phil knew better than to await a response like that, when Techno was like this—he just shut the door quietly, leaving Techno alone in the dark.

Just where Techno liked to be. 

Silently, as he closed his eyes and tried to let himself drift into sleep, Techno gave Phil a million thanks in his head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy!!! Hope you guys enjoy chapter 2!!! This is the second half of the comfort to the hurt and it makes me Happy :D
> 
> Make sure you read the end notes, though, just fyi!!!

It was easier to get the voices to back off than it normally was. That is, Techno was awake and back to almost-normal by the next morning. That was the worst episode like that he’d had in a long, long while, and still, when he opened his eyes, after long hours of dreamless sleep, he felt infinitely better. 

He was supposed to feel worse, right?

But… he felt almost _normal_ , now. Instead, his head was mostly clear, the voices a bit louder than normal but still much, much more bearable. He still felt exhausted, and his head throbbed slightly where he’d fallen, and his hand was still wrapped up—it wasn’t as if some magical timer had sent him flying back into yesterday—but he was, overall, okay.

He was slow as he moved about his room. At long last, he changed, opting out of all the intense layers of his usual outfit, and he took extra time to go to his bathroom and wipe his face off (there was blood on his cheeks from where he’d cut his hand, and he’d bit his lip deep), before stepping out into the cozy morning of his little cabin.

Phil was sitting at the table with a steaming mug in one hand. In the other, Techno swore he could see his own translations from the day before. It was a welcome sight.

“You’re up earlier than usual,” Phil said, looking up with a curious glint in his eyes. 

“They went away pretty quickly.” Techno shrugged. It wasn’t early by any means—it was about midday—but usually something like last night would keep him in bed through the evening. “Not sure why, but I won’t complain.”

Phil gave him a smile, but it faded before long; instead, he was giving Techno a very obvious once-over, looking to make sure he was really alright. This was another part of their little pattern, a result of Techno staggering out one night and trying to insist, once again, that he was alright—he’d proven himself wrong the moment Phil had found him the next morning, passed out on the floor with a half-eaten loaf of bread curled up in one hand, a gash in his hand, and a bloodied bread knife laying on the cutting board)

Phil seemed to approve of Techno now, though. His eyes, after finishing his once-over, came up to meet Techno’s with a small nod. “You want breakfast? I found some eggs this morning.”

“In the snow?” Techno asked. Chickens weren’t frequent out here. Nothing was, besides the bees in his farm, the turtles in the valley, the squids said turtles shared their home with, and the occasional rabbit. “How?”

Phil shrugged. But, he seemed to take Techno’s answer as a yes regardless. Next moment, Phil put the book of half-finished translations down, and he made his way over to Techno’s short little wood-fired stove, the iron clanging as he grabbed Techno’s pan and set about starting up the flames. A flick of a flint and steel later, and the smell of woodsmoke drifted through the house, warm and familiar.

Techno picked up the translation book from the day before with a frown. Half the stuff he’d written when the voices had picked up was unintelligible—he’d have to rip out the pages and try again. It was a waste of the valuable sugar cane used to make the paper, taken last time he’d dropped by the SMP’s tiny cane farm, but it’d take more time to decipher his own handwriting again than it would to just re-translate that section.

He was about to do so, when he noticed fresher ink on the following pages: Phil’s neat handwriting, fixing the parts Techno had scribbled about in long, neat strokes. 

Techno looked up. “Phil, did you fix parts of this?”

“I’ve learned to read your handwriting,” Phil said, giving Techno a knowing glance. “Don’t think I can do the end, but I don’t think you’d be able to do it either.” He smiled.

Techno flipped through the next page, and sure enough, the Phil’s translations ended abruptly where Techno’s rambled on. 

“Did you do all of that yesterday?” Phil glanced at Techno out of the corner of his eye—most of his attention was on breakfast now, which was cooking quickly as Phil threw slabs of bread into the corner of the pan to toast. The bread was probably on the older side, but neither of them would mind.

As Phil asked his question, Techno immediately knew where the conversation was going. It was obvious, with the concern flashing low in Phil’s eyes. “Most of it, yeah,” he answered honestly.

“That’s not good for you, you know.”

He sighed. “I know, I know.”

Phil tilted his head in thought, grabbing Techno’s only two plates from where they lay on the drying rack. “It’s probably what set your head off,” he said.

“Probably.”

Seeing that this would likely be a one-sided conversation, Phil took the time to finish up breakfast. Techno read idly through the re-translated text as Phil scooped the food out and set a plate out on the table in front of both of them. The table was small, so they were always half on top of each other when they ate like this, but they didn’t mind. They ate in a familiar, companionable silence.

Phil broke the silence, when they were done eating. “You shouldn’t push yourself so much, Techno,” he said. “That was the worst I’ve seen you in a while.”

“I’ll be alright.” Techno stood, taking his plate in hand. As he stepped towards the kitchen, he swooped down to grab Phil’s empty plate from in front of him, dumping it all in the sink and grabbing the sponge from the counter. He took a moment to roll up his sleeves and tie his hair back.

Phil watched him, turned his chair to watch Techno with a careful eye. “Nobody comes out here,” he said. “You don’t need all these books and shit, and you certainly don’t need to train as much as you do.”

“Never hurts to be prepared.” Techno rubbed down a plate, washing it clean with fresh water from the basin.

“I’d say it hurts to be paranoid, though,” Phil said. He got up, approaching Techno and taking the clean plate from his hands. Like clockwork, Phil got to work drying off the plate, and he stuck it on the rack where it belonged. “As we both just saw.”

Techno didn’t say anything in response.

Phil grinned. “If you don’t agree, I’ll just stay around. How about that?”

“I’d appreciate the company, honestly.”

“I’ll make you work less.”

Techno groaned, making sure to send an extra wet plate Phil’s way. He’d been given an ultimatum—take care of himself and _not_ keep himself on his toes (or, in other words, be _actually_ retired for once) or have Phil linger about and yell at him every time he did too much work. Knowing Phil’s relaxed approach to projects—with intricate planning but relatively laid-back workdays, long hours spent working coupled with an equal amount of goofing off and relaxing—Techno knew the option he’d have to take. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Phil around, he hadn’t been lying when he said he’d appreciate the company, but that they just tended to work on things differently. 

Phil had other things to be doing anyways; where Techno had quickly isolated himself and tended to be pretty good at staying that way, Phil had bothered to maintain other friendships, such that he spent a good bit of time in his house in L’Manburg. It wasn’t that Phil couldn’t shift his time around, but that Techno didn’t want him to have to, especially when L’Manburg was a safer place to be at the time. Not literally, of course—with the amount of creeper holes around the place, that much was obvious—but in a political sense. Techno hated L’Manburg and its government, but at the moment it gave Phil powerful allies that Techno didn’t have.

“Alright,” Techno said, frowning. “I’ll relax, I guess.” In his head, the voices were very distraught, but he pushed them away with a heavy sigh.

Phil nudged him with his shoulder. “Oh, don’t be like that,” he said. 

“What? What am I being like?” Techno wiped his hands with a spare towel and turned to Phil. Something must’ve been funny about the look on his face, because in the next moment, Phil was laughing at him. Techno caught on, and he dropped his voice to a deadpan, “Please, Phil, tell me what I’m doing. Phil, please-”

Again, Phil just laughed.

He left later on, tracks in the snow trailing off towards the horizon. Techno was, once again, alone in his little snowy cottage. Phil’s bedroom—though he supposed it was technically the guest bedroom, added on only after Phil had started coming regularly and Techno got tired of hearing him complain—was clean and empty again, and the house was back as it’d been before he’d arrived the day before.

“I’m heading towards the monument,” Phil had said the day before, as he’d come through Techno’s door and stomped his boots on the porch. “Tubbo’s in a spot about it. Kid never plans anything ahead, I swear to god. Sam’s no help either.”

He’d only planned to stay a couple of hours, just long enough to cool off before he made his way up to the Nether roof and on his way over. But then, well. Techno’s head had happened. And without question, Phil had stayed the night and most of the next day. Now, the sun was setting and Phil was gone, leaving Techno to carry out his Phil-mandated relaxation on his own terms, away from his friend’s ever-watchful eyes.

Techno didn’t relax. He did exactly what he’d wanted to do that day, as if he hadn’t been bed-ridden just the night before—he cleaned out the honey stores, ventured out to the village for some more golden carrots, and brewed up some more invisibility potions (one could never have too many, and he was planning another trip into the SMP for warm-climate supplies anyways). He got back late, around time for dinner, took the time to empty his bags, and sank down into a chair with a sigh.

Maybe he did do a bit too much, especially just coming off an episode like he was. But these were tasks he’d needed to do. Some creeping suspicion told him that it’d be better to be prepared now, that L’Manburg wasn’t content to leave him where he was, that they would stop at nothing before he was dead in the dirt. Phil called it paranoia, but Techno called it healthy suspicion. Then again, Phil also didn’t know about the last bit on Techno’s to-do list: _get wither skulls_. It was one last protection, that was all.

But he was fine! He wasn’t overworking himself, despite his tiredness now and despite Phil’s apparent fears. Everything he did was necessary, anyways!

He sat there in that chair for a while. He didn’t want dinner—he’d bought too many golden carrots and had had to eat some on his way back—and so he just sat there. The old enchanting book, still just about halfway finished, lay on the table beside him, his own translations open for the world to see.

He sighed. 

He _was_ tired. So, so tired. Tired to the point that he could feel it in every thought, in every movement he made, with every fiber of his being.

Maybe, just maybe, he could take a bit of a break for the night. He deserved it, right? It’s what Phil wanted.

Regardless, when L’Manburg inevitably came knocking, he’d be prepared. He’d hung up on violence—the voices kept to his head, didn’t get to just take control whenever they wanted to anymore. And he’d keep pushing them away, so long as he was left to his retirement.

But the second there was a threat, for him or for Phil?

Oh, they’d be sorry they’d tried.

The voices agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so. Not super sure how I feel about continuing this story? It feels a bit odd to post this when it's very much NOT current, canon-wise—so I might just end it here? Again, not sure. After this chapter comes the Tommy stuff,,,,,, because this first chunk is basically a narrative parallel to that. I would like to maybe post it ALL but,,,, :///// idk man idk. 
> 
> I won't mark it as complete for now!!! Again, my mind's not made up!!! If you're desperate for more of my writing though, I SHALL however shamelessly self-promo my other fic, [Among the Wildflowers and Lilies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28621380/chapters/70151298).
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, regardless!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnnnnnd it's back!!! I shall toss you this chapter and run off into the sunset because I'm in the middle of an awkward meeting right now and have no impulse control!!!! Woooooo I haven't read this in weeks, so I hope it's good!!!!!
> 
> I have opened up a can of worms hnnnngh and now I must finish this fic hnnnnggggh so I will :D

Techno was smart to prepare, as it turned out. The semantics—whether it was “paranoia” or just healthy suspicion—didn’t matter. 

A week or two later, it came to fruition when L’Manburg showed up at his doorstep. And Techno was ready.

But not ready enough.

It was only Dream’s totem that had saved him, Dream’s escape tunnel that had gotten him away. Without them, he would’ve really been dead. The voices had demanded blood, and he’d slain Quackity to appease them, but he’d otherwise been but a pawn playing out Dream’s game against L’Manburg. He owed a debt now, a debt he intended to pay to the fullest extent.

In this world, that was all he could depend on now: absolute reciprocity. He hated Dream’s grab for power, hated the control he threatened with every move he made, but it was all Techno could rely on now.

He was dead on his feet when he got back, sliding off of Carl and stepping heavily up the front walk. If he’d been a bit more lucid, he was sure he would’ve noticed the little things that were off—items from his chests spilling onto the floor, the wide open doors to his basement, the water on the floor where someone had tracked snow in without a care—but the first thing Techno did when he staggered through the door was fall to the ground. His knees hit the floor heavily, a loud thud that echoed through to the basement.

The voices had been loud the moment he’d sighted Tubbo’s familiar brown hair through his window. They’d screamed through every bit of combat, roared louder when the anvil lurked above his head, screeching and crying through the duel with Quackity. They’d only died down when he’d seen his house in the distance again, finally fading as he tied Carl back to the post outside his house.

In short, Techno’s head was pounding, his limbs heavy like lead. He was forced to his knees the moment his head deemed it safe enough to finally let his guard down, and so there he stayed for a long time, lungs heaving hard as exhaustion tried to plant his head into the floor.

It hadn’t been enough. Everything he’d done—the weeks upon weeks he’d suffered through training, brewing potions, collecting gear, and gathering resources—hadn’t been enough. He’d taken it easy for a bit, had let himself relax for around a week or two, and this was what it got him. His head spun with the ways he could’ve taken Quackity out without hurting Carl—a crossbow bolt between his eyes, a trident to the neck, a well-placed sword to the heart—and the foolishness he felt for having something he held so dear right out in the open. 

L’Manburg would pay. They’d scorned him time and time again, and the voices wanted blood, wanted revenge, and Techno wanted it with them. Only this time, when he raised a blade against them, he’d have what he needed to reduce everything they’d ever stood for to rubble. They could raise armies against them, but they wouldn’t stand a chance. 

After all, Techno’s newfound attitude towards reciprocity did not just extend to Dream. 

And his vault was getting quite full, wasn’t it? Those skulls had been intended as a defense, as a last ditch effort, a  _ threat _ more than anything else, but at this point, L’Manburg had made itself clear.

From where he lay, still kneeled over onto his floor, the stench of blood and sweat clinging to his every pore as the voices finally died down, Techno managed a smile.

He’d make them pay.

Somewhere after that line of thought, Techno’s exhausted body finally gave out. Revenge and horrors unimaginable swirled fast around his mind, but he hadn’t slept since the night before, and he’d fought and run through most of the day, and at that point, he was proud he’d made it that far. He collapsed fully onto the floor, his eyes fluttering closed at last. For a moment, he felt peace for the first time in a long time.

The sleep didn’t last as long as he’d wanted it to, though.

He woke up to a harsh breeze on his face, snow scattered around where his head lay crooked on the floor, and yelling.

Lots of yelling.

“Look, now you’re all dead and shit!” A loud, too loud laugh. Techno desperately wished this was some kind of cruel nightmare. “Bitch! How’s it feel now, huh?”

Techno let his eyes open slowly. God, it was barely even dawn. His body was still sluggish and slow, his mind even slower to catch up, as he huffed out against his hardwood floor. His neck ached from the awkward sleeping position, but he ignored it as he lifted his head just barely.

“Oh, ‘Technoblade never dies.’ Yeah, well how about now, you- you fucking  _ prick _ ,” the yelling voice went on, oblivious as Techno came to. Whoever it was was going to hurt the second Techno was up on his feet and swinging, would pay dearly for breaking in and taunting him after the events of the day before. Another laugh rang out through the house.

Techno blinked again, and it clicked. He, regrettably, knew that laugh. Looking up, and—yup. He knew that blond head of hair.

It didn’t lessen Techno’s bloodlust anymore, however.

Slowly, Techno pushed himself back onto his hands and knees. He couldn’t help a groan—Quackity hadn’t gotten nearly as many hits on Techno as Techno had gotten on him, but where that axe had hit hurt more than the rest of him. 

Tommy turned to look at him.

And promptly screamed.

And lunged at Techno with his own old sword.

Even as tired and hurt and vulnerable as he was, Techno was able to fend him off with a single hand. Kneeling on the floor, half-awake, Techno’s hand just caught the edge of the blade—it was dulled from disuse, but still it cut into his hand and set blood rolling down his arm. He paid it no mind. His clothes would most definitely need a good scrub anyways; a little of his own blood on his sleeve was nothing compared to the splatter of Quackity’s across the front of him.

Tommy, ever-persistent, tried to yank the sword back. All he did, though, was disarm himself—he went stumbling backwards as the sword stayed firmly grasped in Techno’s hand, falling onto his ass on the floor.

It gave Techno a chance to finally get up. He threw the sword to his side and wiped his hand off on his pants, before leaning against the wall to get up. Sure, he was swaying on his feet, but he managed to glare at Tommy the whole way up.

Tommy’s eyes shone bright with fear. “Techno- Techno, wait, I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean to- to-” The words poured out of him quickly and almost, dare he say it, quietly. He flinched with every sway of Techno’s unsteady feet, sliding away until he was pressed against the wall of chests in the back of the room. “I promise, I-”

Techno was pissed, but… why did it have to be Phil’s kid? Even he wouldn’t stoop that low for something that was, obviously, bigger than what Techno knew. Never in his life had he seen Tommy cower in fear, and that face alone was enough to keep Techno from tossing him out on the front step and leaving him to fend for himself.

Techno pushed off the wall, bending and picking up the sword. He put it on the kitchen table with a slight clatter, his bloody hand as unsteady as the rest of him, before gazing back over to Tommy. “Why are you here, Tommy?” he asked.

“I didn’t mean to- I’m sorry- please, please don’t-”

Techno sighed, making Tommy freeze. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. He leaned back against the table for support, stumbling a bit as he tipped backwards. “Don’t think I could do much, even if I wanted to.” Unless, of course, Tommy threatened his life, legitimately. Somehow though, Techno doubted that would happen.

Tommy, at long last, seemed to look Techno over. He took in the limp, greasy hair hanging over Techno’s face, the unsteadiness in his legs, the way his hand was propped up on the table, the blood all over his face, the bags getting heavier with each waking moment under his eyes. “You’re… you’re all fucked up.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

At that, curiosity glinted in Tommy’s eyes. “What the hell happened to you?”

“L’Manburg happened,” Techno said. “Tried to have my head.”

A frown. “But- you’re like, the best fighter ever.”

“Yeah, well they fight dirty. Not much to be done.” At that, Techno was done with the questions. He dug some golden carrots out of his pocket and ate as he stalked across the room. All he wanted, in that moment, was to go back to sleep—unfortunately, a couple things had moved up on the to-do list for now. Namely, dealing with Tommy.

Tommy watched Techno carefully as he moved across the room. 

“Move,” Techno said, as he approached the wall of chests. 

Dutifully, Tommy moved. 

Goodness, the kid was like a scared rabbit, with the way he skittered across the floor. Techno took one look at him—tattered clothing, the bags under his eyes, the dirt caked in his hair, and for christ’s sake, had the kid walked through the snow with  _ one shoe _ on—and grabbed an old cloak out of the chest. He tossed it over his shoulder, then kept on rifling through the chests until he was balancing an old pair of boots, a handful of gapples, and a water bottle in his hands. Then, closing the last chest with a sense of finality, he set it all down on the table next to his old sword. Feeling as though he’d taken care of Tommy enough for the moment, he then went back to the chests to grab a first aid bag. 

Tommy, however, didn’t move an inch.

“Okay, don’t take it. Not like I care,” Techno said.

“That’s for me?”

He huffed in response.

“Well, it’s not like you said anything,” Tommy said. Then, from over Techno’s shoulder, there was rustling as Tommy rose to his feet. Techno hadn’t offered the first aid bundle, though he could see burn marks running in long patches along Tommy’s body—he didn’t trust Tommy to dress his wounds correctly, and there was no way the kid would be letting Techno touch him anytime soon. The supplies were for his own messed up hand.

Quietly, Techno sent off a private message to Phil through his communicator. He was purposefully vague—L’Manburg had stolen the compass, and there was no telling what else they’d taken from Phil.  _ You left something here. Come get it, asap. _ Then, in near-silence, Techno started to dress the cut on his hand.

“Want to tell me why you’re here, now?” he asked again, wrapping gauze around his palm with practiced ease. The question was a gentle prod at getting something out of Tommy, more of an excuse to measure up Tommy’s reaction than to get an actual answer.

Because, as expected, there was no answer. Tommy was closed up tight, for what must’ve been the first time in his life. He just blinked at Techno, working his jaw with wide eyes.

Techno shrugged it off.

It was quiet for a while. His hand was done in a blink, secured tightly as he tucked the supplies back in the bag. He could hear Tommy eating quietly behind him, the occasional rustle of the cloak or thunk of the boots’ metal soles against the floor as the kid shifted around the place. 

Quiet was unusual with Tommy around, really. But Techno wasn’t inclined to look a gift horse in the mouth here. He had a feeling there were Trojans lurking inside—he’d leave them to be dealt with by the next guy who found themself with a Tommy on their hands, whether that was Phil, L’Manburg, or anyone else.

That is: from the way Tommy was acting, cowering away from Techno while still trying his hardest to pretend he was alright, there was  _ definitely _ something bigger going on here. But while Techno had a responsibility to Phil, he wanted no part of whatever Tommy had going on. He had his own goals, and Tommy wouldn’t be getting in the way of them. So sure, if the kid was wanted for war crimes and didn’t see fit to tell Techno about them, then that would not be Techno’s problem. He didn’t care who came to pick Tommy up, at the end of the day; he just preferred, for the kid’s own sake, that it would be Phil who got here first. But Tommy had broken in, so it wasn’t like Techno had ever wanted him here in the first place.

For now, Techno had to just roll with it. Phil had taken care of Techno countless times, and Techno had done the same in return—offering Tommy shelter, despite Techno’s neutral attitude towards the kid, would just be fair.

So, after Tommy didn’t answer, Techno showed him the guest room. It was almost dawn, but Tommy looked like he needed the sleep as bad as Techno did. Techno told Tommy to get him if he needed anything, not to mess with anything, don’t do anything stupid, etc—all the normal rules of hospitality, really. Tommy gave Techno a suspicious look, but he didn’t object to any of it. He seemed beyond happy, actually. It was kind of pathetic when paired with his current appearance.

Techno left him for the night, and he didn’t think too much of it. He, instead, went over to his own bedroom, and he promptly flung himself onto the bed.

As he drifted off, the voices told him to be wary of Tommy, of the enemies Tommy had made. But Techno brushed them aside. Phil would be there soon—an ‘asap’ message was basically code for ‘holy shit there’s something big going on,’ and it wasn’t something Phil would easily ignore. They’d figure this whole thing out, in due time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I'm very tired and I have lots of work to do tonight but here I am!!!!!! Please scream at me down below!!!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello I have returned please have this,,,, woot woot let's gooooo. Not sure if it's angst or not but hey,,, whatever it is, I hope you guys enjoy!!!! :)

Techno woke up somewhere in the afternoon. Sun bounced off the snow outside his shuttered windows, but cold still hung over the room. 

He hadn’t lit the fire since he’d come back. Right. He’d have to do that.

More pressing, however, were the urgent knocks on Techno’s front door.

Techno groaned as he dragged himself out of bed. Despite the extra sleep, he still felt like shit. And he still hadn’t changed or bathed since coming back from L’Manburg. And, right, there was a feral child in his house. He got up as quickly as he could manage, opening his door and walking as smoothly as he could into the living room.

Tommy was sitting near the door, trying to see the front porch from the windows. He couldn’t, of course, but Techno didn’t tell him to leave. All Techno did was turn to Tommy as he approached the door and say, “If someone’s looking for you, I suggest you go through the basement doors.”

Tommy nodded. But, beyond all reason, he didn’t move towards the ladder. There was a very conflicted look on his face, and still, Tommy didn’t move. The voices, for reasons beyond Techno’s imagination, desperately wanted Techno to hide Tommy from whatever was on the other side of that door, or what they thought was on the other side, but Techno didn’t move to do so. The kid’s choice was the kid’s choice.

All of it was for nothing, though. 

Techno opened the door.

To find Phil waiting on the other side. 

As soon as Phil’s eyes landed on Techno, his gaze grew concerned. “You said it was urgent,” he said, taking in Techno’s appearance all at once. Techno figured he made quite a sight. Phil would just have to deal with it though, until  _ someone _ gave Techno a chance to finally clean up.

Techno stepped to the side to let Phil in. As usual, Phil took a moment to stomp the snow off his boots on the porch, before coming in and letting Techno close the door behind him. Phil shook his wings a bit in the cold air of the house—right, the fireplace. 

“I have a bit of an infestation,” Techno said, waving over to Tommy. Phil had been too focused on Techno to even notice him, standing there next to the window still with his eyes following his father around the room. Tommy, Techno also noted, still looked quite a bit worse for the wear.

Tommy didn’t move, as Phil turned.

He didn’t move, as Phil’s eyes locked on him.

He did move however, as he started shivering and, right, the fireplace. With a sigh, Techno turned away and chucked some coal in the fireplace, lighting it up with a click of his flint and steel. “Tommy,” he said. Tommy’s head jerked over to him, though he glanced back at Phil every time he blinked. “Come stand near the fireplace.”

Still watching Phil, Tommy did as told. 

It was odd, Tommy was doing as he was told to do.

Phil hadn’t said anything yet.

And… was that anger on Tommy’s face?

As Tommy retreated towards the warmth of the roaring fire, crouching down on the chair in front of it, Techno took the time to meet Phil’s eyes. “I feel like I’m missing something,” he said, looking between his two visitors. The voices, usually helpful in these kinds of situations, were just incessantly telling him to protect Tommy—it was weird, given that more often than not, they would rather have him strike Tommy down and claim it was justified.

Techno’s words seemed to snap Phil out of his reverie. Phil turned to Tommy, now. “Tommy? You’re… we all thought you were dead,” he said.

This was new information for Techno. But Techno didn’t respond; instead, he just stood there and let it play out.

Tommy stared into the fire, now. “Like you’d care if I was.”

“What?” Phil said, confusion all over his face. “Of course I would-”

“No.” Tommy blinked slowly. Techno could see how the flames danced, reflected in his pupils. “No, you wouldn’t.”

So Techno had stepped into something bigger here. Only, instead of the war crimes and violence he’d expected, he’d fallen head first into a conflict of interpersonal relationships. Great, just what he wanted. Though every part of him wanted to just leave, Techno stayed behind.

“Tommy, I’m your dad,” Phil said, stepping forward. “I’d never-” Tommy flinched and pulled away when Phil put a hand on his shoulder—if the move had been meant to be reassuring, it had quite the opposite effect, as Tommy pushed himself to his feet and put more distance between him and Phil. Phil’s eyes froze at it all, and he stopped in his tracks.

“You’d never, right. I mean,” Tommy said, his voice low, “you’re here now, aren’t you?” 

“Of course I am, I got a-”

He laughed, cutting Phil off, but there was no humor in it. Still, he hadn’t met Phil’s eyes; instead, he stared at the ground near Phil’s feet. “Techno calls, and you're here in a heartbeat,” he said. “I don’t know why I expected anything else!”

Techno glanced to Phil, then back at Tommy. Phil’s shoulders had risen with each barb Tommy sent his way, tense, and his wings were still at his back, hanging heavy. Finally, Techno decided to step in. “Alright, Tommy,” he said, his eyes sliding back over to Tommy.

“Don’t ‘alright Tommy’ me! Techno, I was in exile for  _ months _ , and my own  _ dad _ never came to visit. Not once!” Tommy’s anger was burning hot and fast, and by the end of his breath, he was running out. He finally looked up from the floor, meeting Techno’s eyes. “I- I should’ve stayed,” he said. “I don’t even know why I came here. You don’t give a shit about me, and-”

Techno shrugged. “Don’t know why you expected me to.”

“And- and  _ he _ obviously doesn’t, he hasn’t said a fucking  _ word _ ! And he  _ never _ came to visit me!” Tommy was shaking, but this time it didn’t seem like it was from the cold. The room was almost too-hot now, stifling as the fire and the heat from their bodies gathered and tried, desperately, to escape down the hall towards the bedrooms. “Even- even before I was fucking exiled, you  _ never _ cared,” he finished. “ _ Nobody _ gave a shit about me.”

Phil just stood there in shock.

Tommy was right. The voices whispered the tale in Techno’s head, connected the emotional puzzle pieces of Tommy’s head where Techno maintained his own indifference—Phil had only shown up in the Dream SMP when he had no choice, when Wilbur was on the edge. And it hadn’t been enough. Then, with no hesitation, he’d stabbed one son through the heart, only to turn around and stab the other in the back, choosing Techno, Tommy’s enemy (always, Tommy always saw the world in such black and white), with which to spend his time with. Tommy was exiled, and Phil hadn’t lifted a finger. In contrast, when Techno was boxed up in L’Manburg, Phil had watched from his window in horror, yelling out for them to stop.

Though Techno hated to admit it, Tommy was right.

“Tommy,” Phil tried, but the word fell, futile and useless and empty, without meaning.

Techno, once again, stepped forward. “Tommy, why don’t you go get cleaned up. Bathroom’s the last door on the right,” he said. He could wait to bathe; he wanted to get away from all this emotional energy lingering about for now. After all, exhaustion from the day before still seeped the energy from Techno’s bones, made half of him want to tear his own hair out just from the way it tore at his insides, at the way this whole situation dared to sit there before him and still ask for  _ more _ . Though he’d just woken up, and he was still caked in grime, still wearing clothes from two days ago, he wanted a nap.

He settled for offering Phil a brief “Tommy’s in the guest bedroom,” before ascending the ladder up to the attic with a heavy sigh. He’d pieced his chair back together from when he’d fallen, and so there was where he sat. Before he knew it, he’d put his head down on his desk, and his eyes fell shut.

_______________

He woke up to the voices clamoring around in his head. It felt like they were shifting his brain around, moving boxes full of memories and thoughts into different places, dusting off everything Techno tried to get rid of. They weren’t yelling, for once—they were… reminding him. Old memories rose to Techno’s stream of thought as he picked his head up from his desk.

Chasing Tommy around a desert and avoiding his ‘trap’ that definitely hadn’t been hidden in the sand. Tournaments, won with Tommy at his side. The voices whispered this in his ear, showed him of the times Tommy had smiled at him and laughed at him and annoyed the shit out of him. But they’d been sympathetic to Tommy since Techno had first laid eyes on him, and this was the newest, and much more blatant, approach in a long string of appeals to get Techno more involved than he wanted to be.

Techno shoved them to the side. Nope.

He was already more involved with whatever had been going on with Tommy than he wanted to be.

That thought didn’t last long, however, when Techno got up from his desk. It was night time, now, and the moonlight bounced off the snow outside, lighting up the otherwise-dark space just enough for him to be able to see without lighting the candle waiting on his desk. It was enough, apparently, for him to make out the curled up shape of Tommy asleep on the floor.

That explained quite a bit, he supposed. The voices got louder, now talking over each other in their hurry to tell Techno exactly why he should care for the sleeping child on the floor in front of him.

Techno sighed. He didn’t think he’d be able to just get around this.

Slowly, he bent down next to Tommy, careful to keep a comfortable distance—the kid, in a very concerning way, didn’t seem to like much close contact nowadays—as he gave Tommy a slight push. It took a moment, but then Techno was leaning away as Tommy’s eyes fluttered open and peered up at him. 

“You reek,” were Tommy’s first words.

“You’re asleep on my floor,” Techno said. He pushed himself upright and turned to neaten up his desk before, it seemed, he’d have to handle this.

Tommy looked a bit confused, his eyes still half-hooded with sleep as he gazed around the cramped space of Techno’s attic. “Had a nightmare. Phil was downstairs,” he said, pulling himself up into a sitting position. The motion was slow, and- wait, was that a wince? 

Right. The burn marks that Techno still hadn’t taken care of—they still stood out, bright red and angry, against Tommy’s too-pale skin.

Well, that wasn’t concerning at all. The voices chorused in agreement. “A nightmare?” Techno asked, turning back to Tommy. The kid’s eyes were half open though, and now he was leaning against a wall, struggling to stay awake in the low light of the room. “Didn’t know you got those.”

“Guess I do.” Tommy shrugged. “I’ll just- I’ll just sleep up here… for now,” he said. “If you don’t… if you don’t mind.”

He must’ve been as exhausted as Techno had been when he’d arrived. Sure, Techno could see the bags under his eyes, could see how pale and skinny and frail and—alright, cut that out—the kid was, but it was different than watching Tommy fall asleep on his floor just moments after waking up. 

_ Help him. _

_ Don’t leave him. _

_ Help, help, help. _

The voices were getting louder as Techno moved to gather himself up and go down to bathe (at long last). As he pulled his robe from around his shoulders, folding it under his arm so he could move his shoulders better and, hopefully, smell a little better, the voices objected. They started screaming as Techno moved towards the ladder, persistent as ever.

He couldn’t do anything, could he?

He glanced back to Tommy sitting there, passed out on the floor. The voices urged him forward, louder and louder and louder. They were going to send him into another episode if they kept it up—though, that seemed to be the threat they wanted to make, as Techno just stood there and took his time to look over Tommy. 

Tommy looked so much… younger, when he was asleep. It was something Techno had seen a lot, as a kid who grew up on battlefields. For people carrying a lot on their shoulders were good at hiding it, until they fell asleep and let themselves be free from it, were allowed to relax if only for a moment.

_ Tommy needs help. _

_ Help, help, help. _

_ Keep him. _

With a reluctant sigh, Techno stepped away from the ladder. He put his robe back around his shoulders, so he’d be able to use his arms freely, and approached the sleeping child. “Is this what you want?” he whispered to the voices.

_ Yes, yes, yes. _

_ Help Tommy. _

_ Don’t leave him. _

Techno grumbled. “Fine, fine. Just- shut up, would you?” he said. Just this once, he’d do what they wanted—their demands, for the first time in a long time, did  _ not _ involve immediate and brutal violence. So he would acquiesce. 

He took a moment to brush his hair to the side before bending down and, with astonishingly gentle hands, scooped Tommy up into his arms. Tommy was way too lightweight, something told Techno, but he flung the kid over his shoulder military-style regardless, leaving one hand free so he could work the ladder. The voices quieted down the instant Techno put his hand on Tommy, and Techno couldn’t help a short sigh in relief.

The trip down the ladder was easier than Techno thought it would be. Again, Tommy didn’t weigh as much as he probably should’ve, and it wasn’t like he’d been too bulky to begin with. Techno’s footsteps were lighter than normal, trying to keep Phil from waking up from the spot on the floor where he slept, until Techno got Tommy back to the guest bedroom. His hands were gentle, as he pulled the blankets up over Tommy. Tommy’s head was still damp from the bath—Techno left the door cracked to let the heat come in, despite the heavy blankets already heaped on the mattress. 

“There,” Techno whispered to himself, as he left the room. “Happy now?”

The voices let out a happy sound of agreement.

“Don’t get used to it.”

With that, Techno went about finally cleaning himself up after the fight with L’Manburg. He went to the bath and scrubbed until the water was a murky red-brown, the color of red clay eroding. He scrubbed the violence and anger and pain from his skin until every inch of him was bright pink and the water had run cold and the voices were quieted in shock. He scrubbed until he’d forgotten when he’d started, until he was sure every trace of it was gone and done, until all that was left of it all was the burn for reciprocity in his stomach. Then, he put his pajamas on, grabbed something to eat—he hadn’t eaten since Tommy had shown up, and neither had Tommy, now that he thought about it—and climbed into his bed. He was still tired, still exhausted, and sleep felt like a nice relief.

And so Techno lay there for a while, until sleep pulled him under once again. Finally, he felt better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!!!! This is where that "parallels" bit came in,,,, parallels are like the only literary structure I can do, so I'm quite proud of this!!!!! :DDDD


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost forgot to update this because I was too busy reading [this](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1AIBqHsmEApIHhpGOdjw6hCpFvBckIq9gWvdNiJD_ZgE/edit?usp=sharing). And now "How Bad Can I Be" is stuck in my head bc I watched [that one Schlatt animatic with the song](https://youtu.be/R9_wo3aDm1o). So go check that out. If you want to ruin this chapter for yourself I suggest you listen to the song as you read <3 <3
> 
> Anyways, hope you guys enjoy!!!!!!

Techno woke up, once again, to knocking. 

Only, this time, the knocking was on his bedroom door, not on the front door. 

It wasn’t what Techno wanted to wake up to, but it was better than having a third visitor come by in as many days.

Retire to get away from everyone else, and suddenly half the SMP comes knocking. Techno gave himself to snort at the irony of it all, before getting up and stalking across the cold floor to open his bedroom door.

He opened it to see Tommy standing there with his arms wrapped tight around himself, his eyes pointed towards the floor. Tommy looked up as the wood creaked on the doorframe, his eyes going wide as he took in Techno’s newly-clean appearance. He then seemed to relax—without blood covering him, Techno figured he looked at least a little less intimidating.

“Do you need something?” Techno asked. He kept the door carefully close to him, barring Tommy the invitation to come in.

Tommy seemed to gather himself up. He dropped his arms from around himself, looked Techno in the eyes, and tried to set his shoulders back. It would’ve worked if, before he spoke, he didn’t glance back to see if Phil was behind him. And if- wait, he still had all those burns on his arms, didn’t he? Techno would have to take care of that, wouldn’t he? “Did you move me last night?” Tommy asked.

Techno stared down at him. “Yup.”

“Well, why the hell would you do that?” Tommy asked.

“You were on the floor.”

“I was comfortable,” he said. “You don’t just- don’t just _move_ me, you prick! I was sleeping!”

Techno considered Tommy again, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning slightly against the doorway. Through the house, he could smell breakfast cooking on the stove, could faintly hear sizzling—Phil was cooking again. He ignored the growl in his stomach in favor of focusing back on Tommy. “Would you rather I left you on the floor?”

Tommy sputtered.

At that, Techno pushed himself off the doorframe, striding past Tommy and into the kitchen. “I moved you, whatever,” he said. He could practically hear the rusty cogs spinning around, after years of disuse, in Tommy’s head, as Tommy trailed after him, sputtering along the way. “Come eat something before you starve. And we need to fix your arms up.”

“I’m not going to-”

Techno silenced him with a single glance over his shoulder.

Phil had to leave after breakfast—something about L’Manburg putting him on house arrest? Techno wouldn’t put it past them at that point—but not before Tommy glared at him over breakfast. 

Tommy was quickly settling back into that fake version of his old self, the one that was similar enough if you didn’t look too hard, but held something scared and hurt lurking underneath, something that made the voices in Techno’s head, inexplicably, start to coo and demand Techno protect him at every step of the way. It made Tommy stand there, stubbornly silent, as Phil promised he’d try to figure out what had really gone on with Tommy’s exile, as Phil gave out explanations about his absence to what was, effectively, a brick wall. Techno remained neutral as Tommy’s scowl deepened with each word from Phil’s mouth.

Then, Techno bid Phil goodbye

He was gone, just like that.

And he didn’t take Tommy with him.

“Great,” Techno said, turning away from the window. In the distance, Phil disappeared as he stepped through the Nether portal, footprints trailing after him through the snow. It seemed this was a done deal.

Meaning Techno had two options: leave the kid to fend for himself and never look back, or… keep him. For now. He knew which ones the voices would appreciate, and he knew it was vastly different from the one Techno preferred. But was it a battle he was filling to fight?

Part of him almost preferred it when the voices only shouted about acts of violence and terrorism—it kept this ‘lesser cost’ bullshit about the whole thing out of his head. Now, he was left wondering if it was really _worth_ the inevitable, excruciating pain that would come if he kicked Tommy out into the snow without a second glance.

“Isn’t this great?” Tommy said, his eyes brighter than before. The Tommy that liked to pretend was back in full force, now that he didn’t have Phil’s presence to focus on. “It’s just you and me now, isn’t it?” He laughed, that familiar obnoxious thing. “Tommy and Techno against the world!”

Techno sighed, and he figured all he could do was try it. If Tommy’s presence turned out worse for him than the voice’s screaming, then he was fully prepared to boot the child and leave him out to fend for himself.

But who knew? 

Maybe Tommy was more bearable than before.

As long as Techno kept himself out of whatever was going on with Tommy—no matter how bad Tommy was at hiding it—then the only thing lost, either way, would be a bit of Techno’s sanity. 

So, rather than let Tommy dawdle about and, most likely, mess with all of Techno’s stuff, Techno waved him along towards the chests. There, Techno pulled out some clothes to replace the rags Tommy still wore, as well as a more well-rounded set of tools—though Techno had given him boots and a cloak nearly two days before, he hadn’t seen a point in giving him anymore when he’d _thought_ the kid would be leaving with Phil. “Go change.”

Tommy caught the clothes and tools with a confused look. “What? Why?” he asked. And there it was, the little glimmer of fear in his voice. “Is- is this a gift?”

“If that’s what you want to call it,” Techno said. “Hurry up, I have stuff to do today.”

“And… and I’m coming with?”

He sighed, looking over to Tommy with a deadpan look on his face. Apparently, he had to spell it out. “If you’re staying here, you’re going to be useful. Got it?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Hurriedly, Tommy nodded his agreement. And then, with a thick gulp and a skitter about the room, he retreated into the guest room, emerging a little while later wearing the new outfit. 

They were Techno’s old clothes, as were the rest of what Tommy was wearing, but they seemed to fit him well, and Tommy didn’t seem to care if he didn’t quite fill out the shoulders or if the socks rode a little too low. He just came out petting the fur on the cloak, which was slung over one shoulder and clasped to the capulet on his other, with wide eyes. His sleeves were rolled up, to keep the fabric off of his burned arms. And, in his hand, he held the blue cummerbund.

“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever worn,” he said, looking up to meet Techno’s eyes. He grabbed the Antarctic star pinned to the cape, then let it fall. “Who the hell puts _jewelry_ on a uniform?”

Techno rolled his eyes. “I do,” he said. He stepped forward, ignoring Tommy’s panic at the sudden movement, and took the cummerbund from his hand. “The cummerbund goes around your waist, not in your hand, by the way.”

Tommy’s eyes jerked up to meet Techno’s. “The cum _what?_ ”

“I’m going to put it on you, since you can’t do it yourself,” Techno ignored the dumb question, giving Tommy time to expect his movements this time. Then, making sure the pleats pointed the right way, he slung the fabric around Tommy’s waist, pulling it taut, fastening it, and then turning it so the buckle was hidden under the cloak.

Tommy seemed to go into shock for the process. Only once Techno had already finished and stepped away, did he seem to realize the piece of fabric was there and begin to wrestle with it. “I don’t want your cum bund!” he yelled. “Get it off of me!” 

Fortunately for Techno’s fashion sense, Tommy didn’t know how to work a belt buckle, so he couldn’t get it off if he tried.

“Cummerbund. It hides the ruffles in your shirt,” Techno said, stepping away from Tommy. He stopped to grab a bag of supplies, as well as an empty bag for the harvesting they’d have to carry back, before motioning Tommy towards the door. “Now hurry up, before I leave you.”

Tommy hesitated a moment.

“If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it earlier. Believe me.” Techno stepped out the door, holding it open for Tommy to come out. Something told him Tommy wouldn’t lock it after him. “Come on.”

A bit reluctantly, Tommy stepped out the door after Techno. And with that, they were on their way.

___________

Techno took it easy on Tommy for the day. The kid was still malnourished, after all.

If it’d just been Techno, on his own, he definitely would’ve worked about ten times as much. Instead, he had to deal with Tommy stomping through the snow behind him, his footsteps messy where Techno’s were precise from months of experience. It was nearing the colder season, though, so this work had to get done. And with L’Manburg lurking on the horizon, the pressure was on. 

A visit to the cow farm, food for Carl and a bit of scouting for a new place to put him, followed by a short visit to the turtle farm. Tommy wasn’t that helpful, but Carl had been nicer than normal (if that was even possible; Carl was the most good-natured horse Techno had ever owned) when Tommy had approached with straws of wheat gathered in his palm.

The voices ‘aww’ed in approval.

As they worked, the fake, bravado-filled Tommy started to slowly fade away. That hurt Tommy wasn’t the only thing left, though—where there had seemed to be a lever flicking him between the two earlier, now Tommy eased into something in the middle, still indignant and annoying, still wandering about with that half-scared look in his eyes, but neither at an extreme Techno had seen before. Here was the Tommy that Techno had seen sleeping on the floor in front of him—at ease, with the weight lifted from his shoulders for just a moment.

Techno would have to do extra work that night to make up for two days of lost work and then a slow day with Tommy, but he could manage.

They got back late in the day, the sun just setting over the horizon. Tommy seemed exhausted, and Techno would’ve felt the same, if it weren’t for the ever-pressing need to prepare still poking him in the back. He wanted to get some enchanting done that night, something short and safe he could do without worrying about mobs getting to him as he grew tired. Something told him there wouldn’t be as much more staying up all night outside and sleeping the day away when Tommy was around, so inside Techno would stay, for now, during the night hours. He’d been putting off the new enchants for weeks, really. Maybe if he’d gotten them done sooner-

“I didn’t want to yell at him, you know,” Tommy said, interrupting Techno’s thoughts as Techno stood over the stove, cooking up some soup for dinner. It was an easy, minimal effort meal, and Tommy would be able to keep down as much of it as he wanted if he paced himself. Techno had already caught the kid snacking, scolded him, and then was scolded by the voices in his head as Tommy apologized profusely. 

“Phil?”

A nod.

Techno frowned. “You seemed pretty eager about it,” he said, stirring the hot broth around slowly. It wasn’t thick, and the heat was low to let the meat and potatoes soften more.

“Yeah, well I didn’t want to.” Tommy, over Techno’s shoulder, stared down at his lap. “I don’t hate him. I don’t _want_ to hate him. He’s my dad!”

“Blood doesn’t mean anything if you don’t want it to,” Techno said.

“I’m adopted, dickhead.”

Techno shrugged. “Same rules apply,” he said.

“Aren’t you and Phil friends?”

“Yup.”

“Then wouldn’t you-”

“If I sent you off with Phil and you didn’t want to be there, he’d know. He’d mope about it to me.” Techno turned, giving Tommy a glance out of the corner of his eye. “Do what you want.”

Tommy, sitting there with his legs tucked up against his chest at Techno’s dining table, looked remarkably small all over again. He seemed to be in limbo now, half of him ready to bolt at any wrong move while the other couldn’t help but let loose his sharp tongue. 

“Why are you letting me stay?” he asked.

Techno grunted. He didn’t care to explain, was all. In his head, the voices chorused their disagreement, begging to be known personally by Tommy. Jeez, it seemed the only thing Techno had needed to control them all these years was a bratty little kid to look after. 

“Techno- I- I asked you a question,” Tommy said.

“Yeah, I heard you.”

“So you’re ignoring me. That’s actually quite rude, you know.”

Techno shrugged. “You can see it that way if you want.”

Tommy opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, seeming to think before he spoke (a new phenomenon that, considering what Techno had seen of Tommy through the years, was both relieving and incredibly unnerving), before just settling back into his chair. Ultimately, he passed by the topic, coming back around to where they’d been before. “I don’t hate my dad,” he said again.

He wanted to say something specific, then. 

“Tommy, if you want to say something, just say it,” Techno said, turning down the heat on the stove. It was almost done, he just wanted to let it simmer for a little bit before serving.

“I don’t-” Tommy started, before Techno’s words seemed to catch up to him rather quickly. “Get out of my head.”

Techno couldn’t help a chuckle. “I’m not in your head, Tommy. You’re just predictable.”

“Fine, alright. Alright,” Tommy said. “I- I spent a lot of time alone, before I came here. You know, Dream was my only friend. I don’t hate my dad. I- just- he was the easiest.” A snort. “It’s not like you ever gave a shit about me.”

Techno was sure that that had been some kind of slip right there. The voices chorused a strong, deep, and immediate hatred towards Dream at the tiny mention of him being out there, alone with Tommy. For once in his life, Techno agreed with them. It was nothing, but it was something.

But Techno would stay out of it. He had more important things to do, more important things to care about. “You’re right about that,” he said.

“Right, right. Dad was the only option, and- I mean I don’t forgive him regardless-”

“No one said you had to.”

Tommy paused, staring at Techno for a long, silent moment. Techno took the time to ladle soup into his wooden bowls; if he poured less for Tommy, for fear of the kid chucking it all back up from what must’ve been weeks of malnourishment—it had to have been _weeks_ , the voices agreed, how else would you wind up looking like _that_?—he didn’t notice.

Tommy went on, missing Techno’s entire internal decision-making process about something so simple as soup servings. “I just wanted to make that clear. Because, well, you’re letting me stay here and shit, and- you’re friends with Phil, and I know I can’t do what you want me to do, but I promise you- Techno, I promise I can do better. I’ll- I _won’t_ screw it up this time, I promise.”

Somewhere along the line, Tommy’s words had turned to pleas. Pushing it aside, Techno turned off the stove and carried the bowls over. He put one down in front of Tommy, one down across the table, and sat down.

Slowly, the puzzle pieces were coming together. The voices chanted for Dream’s head, but Techno reserved his judgement for now. He couldn’t see the whole picture just yet. Even then: it wasn’t a good habit to go picking fights with gods—the Greeks had taught him that many, many times over. At the very least, though, he’d want to be prepared, if he did. 

And, most definitely, he wasn’t about to risk that for Tommy.

The voices made their dissent clear, but Techno pushed them to the side.

“Techno?”

Techno looked up. He’d completely phased out on whatever Tommy had been talking about.

Tommy seemed to read this off of him, and so he repeated, in a slightly-shaking voice, “You’re not- you’re not kicking me out, are you?”

Techno considered the question. The voices made their threats clear, and Techno saw no reason why, at the moment, he would disagree. No looking the horse in the mouth though, he reminded himself—lest he find enemies, or worse, god-like figures dressed in neon green, waiting to strike. He would house and feed Tommy, so long as Tommy helped him out, and so long as Techno didn’t find himself part of a larger conflict as a result—after the last one, that was the last thing he wanted, until he was ready for it. He told himself it was because he owed Phil, because Phil had been there for Techno many times over.

He wasn’t sure how true that was, but hey, that was a concern for another time.

“Nope, not kicking you out,” Techno said, at long last, shoveling out his answer in between bites of soup.

Tommy instantly brightened up. 

And that was that, for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That goddamn song is still stuck in my head,,,,, i want to SCREAM ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
> 
> Anywho,,,,,, this chapter was FUN. This whole fic is basically Techno saying he doesn't care about Tommy and then doing things that prove that very wrong and he's just,,, just refusing to accept it,,, , and it's FUN i LOVE it hehe :D At this point I'm mostly just rewriting canon to give myself the Tommy and Techno content I wanted bc I'm a single-minded creature. All I know is SBI and pain :)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments feed the writing/editing demon, and they're much appreciated! If you like this fic, hate it, or otherwise want to yell at me, please share down below :D


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